Running
by TenthWeasley
Summary: House had said run, and so Rory was running. A short one-shot from the season six episode "The Doctor's Wife."


House had said run, and so Rory was running.

He had _been_ running – both he and Amy had – but where had that gotten them? It had nearly gotten Amy thrown down a pit; it had gotten Rory to spend years in comparison to Amy's seconds, waiting for her like he had waited all those long years. The last centurion, destroyed to madness by something unknowable and untouchable, just for that something's entertainment.

He scrabbled down another of the TARDIS's corridors, sprinting around a corner and clutching fast to Amy's hand all the while. _If we're together_, Rory thought desperately, heart lurching inside of his chest, _then House can't separate us, can he? _His brain burned feverishly with the memory of her abandonment, those years and years alone in the white-and-yellow maze, waiting for her to come back for him. _He can't separate us if we're together_.

"Rory!" Amy shouted from somewhere behind him, but that only made Rory grip her hand tighter. "Rory, stop running! Let go of my _arm_!" She yanked it from him, and only then did he stop, terrified of what would happen if he lost sight of her for even an instant.

"Look, we've – we've just got to calm down and think," she was saying quickly, bordering on hysterics, eyes darting about her as though looking for a neon sign pointing to a way out. Rory threw up his hands.

"Amy, we can't stop and think, because House is _messing with our minds_," he said through gritted teeth. "You abandoned me for centuries –"

"I did not!" she interjected hotly. "It was a few seconds, Rory –"

"Do you see what I mean?" He clasped her to him roughly, and she folded her arms against his chest; he could feel her shuddering breaths, bordering on the verge of tears, but not quite there yet. Rory pressed his mouth to the top of her head.

"The Doctor's got a way out of this," Amy pleaded still, voice thick. "He's always does."

Rory didn't argue; hope was beginning to look like a distant dream. "We've got to keep running, Amy," was all he managed. "Do you understand me?" And then, when she said nothing, "Do you understand me?"

Amy stayed silent.

Rory jerked back from her, holding her at arm's length, his head pounding as blood raced frenetically through his temples. Without thinking, he yelled, losing his grip on his wife entirely and shying away from her.

Her mouth had been sewn shut with coarse black thread, not unlike that Rory himself had used in Leadworth to stitch up patients. Her eyes were blank and glassy, staring at a point just over his shoulder. He couldn't stop himself from looking, though he knew that there was nothing there. This wasn't Amy, this was a trick, a stupid hoax…

"Amy!" he screamed; Not-Amy buckled to her knees, as though in response to her name. A small, thin trickle of blood escaped the corner of her mouth and dribbled down her chin, dripping onto the floor below. Rory sank to his knees without thinking, eyes blurred with tears.

"No, no! _Amy_!" he sobbed. Her skin was like paper under his fingers, her bones more fragile than glass. She stared unseeingly at the ceiling above them, and the blood from her mouth dripped onto his hands as he cradled her head gently in his palms.

"Give her back!" he roared, staring up at the ceiling where Not-Amy continued to gaze. "Give me back my wife!" And as he spoke, Not-Amy crumbled to pieces, filtering through his outspread fingers like ash until she was nothing more than dust.

"Rory?"

Rory spun around, lifting his head from his hands; he didn't remember bending double, folding in on himself, pressing his face into his fingertips. Amy was standing in the intersection of the corridors, watching him with a frightened look on her face. "Rory?" she asked again.

"Amy," he breathed, rising on trembling knees that felt as though they had turned to water. "Amy…" He looked down at his hands, but there was no trace of the blood or the dust from Not-Amy. He looked back at his wife shakily. She crossed the small distance to him, taking her hands in his and looking at them herself.

Rory folded his hands over hers, swallowing deeply but not daring to close his eyes. "We have to keep moving," he said, low and urgent, and Amy nodded.

House had said run, and so Rory was running.

* * *

_A/N: I apologize for it taking so long for me to get another story up here! I still am working on my Doctor Who/Harry Potter crossover story, and do hope to have at least a chapter or two of that up before long – writing for HPFF and original fiction have kept me otherwise occupied for the present. This is a short look at another of House's mind games from the season six episode "The Doctor's Wife", written by the brilliant Neil Gaiman. I hope you enjoyed it, and thank you for reading!_


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